Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 72: Getting Lost, Together

Chapter 72: Getting Lost, Together

The afternoon sun spilled over the market, gilding rooftops and catching on the colorful fabrics swaying above each stall. Laughter mingled with the clink of coins, the shuffle of feet, and the low hum of a vendor’s song.

The air brimmed with the scent of fried dough, sweetened fruit, and warm spice—an orchestra of senses that made the world feel full and alive.

Billy sat back on the wooden bench, his knee brushing Artur’s. His fingers curled around a cool clay cup, condensation trailing to his knuckles. From their shaded spot beneath a faded red awning, they had a slice-of-life view—children darting between baskets, elders arguing over weights, young couples pointing at flower stalls like they were sketching out dreams.

"Feels like we stumbled into someone else’s summer," Billy murmured, gaze wandering. "The kind of day you remember for no reason."

Artur turned, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Or maybe we finally slowed down long enough to notice it."

Billy looked at him then—the sun catching gold in Artur’s lashes, the tilt of his mouth easy and familiar. He leaned in, letting their shoulders touch fully.

Artur’s hand drifted over, fingers brushing Billy’s—not quite a hold, but lingering. "This is nice," he said.

"Better than racing bikes?" Billy teased.

"Only because I’m not carrying you back after you fall."

"I didn’t fall," Billy said with mock indignation. "The road was uneven. And someone kept shouting behind me."

"That someone won."

Billy rolled his eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet you keep following me," Artur said, bumping his knee.

A vendor passed by offering sweet rice crackers wrapped in dried leaves. Billy bought two without pause, handing one to Artur. "Peace offering. For your ego."

Artur took a bite. "Not bad. For a loser."

Billy laughed—unfiltered and free. The sound made Artur glance sideways, his expression softening. Something about Billy’s laugh—the way it crinkled his eyes, how it came from somewhere honest—stuck with him.

"You’re staring," Billy said, smiling.

"You’re... loud," Artur muttered, looking away.

Billy leaned in. "Careful. You’re blushing."

"I am not," Artur shot back, shifting in his seat.

They lingered there a little longer, sharing snacks and glances, their laughter folding into the market’s rhythm. Billy stretched with a sigh, eyes drifting toward a stall where wind chimes danced on an unseen breeze.

"Let’s look around," he said, standing. "I saw a shop with carvings earlier."

Artur didn’t move right away—just looked up, affection flickering briefly before rising. "Lead the way, bike wrecker."

Billy grinned. Without a word, they walked—shoulders brushing, fingers occasionally touching—as the market bloomed around them in color and memory.

The crowd shifted like a slow tide. Billy walked ahead, threading through people with vague certainty.

"It was around here," he called over his shoulder, scanning stalls that all looked oddly unfamiliar.

Artur arched a brow. "You said that two turns ago."

"I did not," Billy replied quickly—then paused. "Okay... maybe I’m slightly off."

"Slightly?" Artur repeated with a laugh.

"I remember clearly—it had wood carvings, a bell at the door, and a cat statue with one ear chipped."

"You sure that wasn’t a dream?"

Billy gasped. "Don’t mock a man on a quest."

Artur nudged him. "Then let’s find your lost temple of cats."

Billy looped an arm around his. "My hero."

"You’ll owe me," Artur muttered, but didn’t pull away. Their arms stayed linked, swinging slightly as they wandered back through the rows.

"There! I think it’s down this lane," Billy pointed.

"That’s a butcher’s stall."

"...Right. Not that one."

Artur laughed, warm and unguarded, the sound rising above the bustle. Billy turned, flustered but smiling, and grabbed his hand. "Alright—mock me later. Help me find a tiny one-eared wooden cat and a bell. It’s real. I swear."

"Sure it is," Artur said, letting himself be pulled along.

They moved deeper into the heart of the market—getting a little lost, a little sidetracked, and a little more caught up in each other with every step.

They passed a pottery stall. No bell. No cat. No familiar curtain.

"We’ve walked in a full circle," Artur noted.

Billy sighed. "How can a shop just disappear?"

"Maybe it never existed," Artur teased. "Maybe it was a pepper stew hallucination."

Billy groaned. "I was so sure."

"I know," Artur said. "You had your heroic face on."

Billy turned. "I admit defeat. Let’s just go—"

"Artur?"

A voice cut through the crowd. They turned to see a man waving from a nearby stall lined with handmade jewelry and silver-threaded ribbons.

"Ren?"

The name struck like a quiet anchor. Billy’s face lifted instinctively.

Ren walked over, brushing off wood shavings. "You two are hopeless. I told you to stop by."

Artur scratched his neck. "We meant to..."

Billy raised his hands. "I warned him you’d give us an earful."

Ren smirked. "And now you’re here, looking like ghost hunters."

"We were looking for a shop," Billy mumbled. "I think it vanished."

"It never existed," Artur added, earning a glare.

Ren laughed. "Sounds like an adventure."

"More like a workout," Artur said. "He made me walk the market twice."

"Three times," Billy corrected.

"Well," Ren gestured toward his stall, "I’ve got shade and cold drinks. Come rest."

Artur didn’t hesitate. "Sounds like heaven."

Billy glanced back once more before following. "My feet agree."

Ren’s stall shimmered in the sun, glass beads catching light like scattered stars. He pulled out stools and waved them down.

Billy collapsed onto his seat, fanning his face. "I still think it was real."

"You two look like you lost a treasure map," Ren joked.

"More like a dream," Billy muttered. "With bells and cats."

"Next time, draw it," Artur said. "So I know what I’m chasing."

Billy pointed at him. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

Artur just smirked.

Behind them, the scent of grilled dough and spices drifted from a cart nearby. The vendor—a woman with kind eyes and a straw hat—chuckled.

"Young folks eat like you haven’t seen food in days."

Artur pointed at Billy. "He dragged us through the market on a quest."

Billy took a plate and grinned. "He wasn’t complaining near the juice stall."

Artur bit into a fritter, eyes widening. "Okay. This is good."

Billy leaned closer. "Told you. Getting lost has its perks."

They sat shoulder to shoulder, warm fritters in hand, laughter blooming between them again—easy, effortless, like everything else that day.

Ren leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching them with a faint smile.

"You two really are something," he said quietly.

Billy looked up. "Something good?"

Ren nodded. "Yeah. Like watching two puzzle pieces slowly click together."

Artur pretended to hide behind his fritter. "Too sweet. Stop talking."

Billy laughed, nudging his knee against Artur’s under the table. "Don’t mind him. He’s soft underneath the grumpy."

"Mm-hmm," Ren said knowingly. "I’ve known that for years."

Artur gave them both a long-suffering look, cheeks slightly flushed.

"Hey," Billy whispered, voice low now, only for Artur. "Next time we get lost, let’s do it on purpose."

Artur glanced at him, quiet for a beat, then gave a soft smile. "Only if you promise to keep dragging me in circles."

Billy grinned, leaning closer to brush his shoulder. "Deal."

Ren plopped down on an upturned crate, folding his arms and letting out a long sigh like he’d been waiting all day for them. "You two really made it this time. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

Artur arched a brow over the rim of his drink. "We weren’t. Just... detouring."

Billy wiped his fingers with a napkin, shooting Ren a cheeky grin. "We were hunting down a shop that may or may not exist. Like a real-life scavenger hunt, but the prize was Artur’s vague memory of a wooden cat."

"It had a bell," Artur added quietly, almost stubbornly.

Ren burst out laughing. "A bell, huh? Should’ve said so sooner. That narrows it down to... maybe fifty stalls in this market."

Billy groaned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Thank you, that’s very helpful."

Ren smirked. "Hey, no shame in getting lost when you’re with someone cute. Makes wandering look romantic."

Artur narrowed his eyes at him. "I hope your customers enjoy the drama you keep adding."

"I give them free gossip with every bracelet," Ren said proudly, gesturing to his wares. "Buy two, hear about Artur’s secret love life. Buy three, I might throw in childhood stories."

Billy perked up. "Wait, what kind of stories?"

"No," Artur cut in sharply, pointing a warning finger at Ren. "Don’t."

Ren leaned closer to Billy, ignoring Artur’s glare. "Did you know he used to write secret love poems in middle school? Kept them in his locker, all folded up."

Billy’s eyes sparkled. "Artur! You never told me you were a poet."

"I’m not," Artur muttered, cheeks turning a warm pink. "He’s exaggerating."

"I still have one, you know," Ren added, looking pleased with himself.

Billy turned to Artur with mock betrayal. "You let him keep your poetry and not me?"

Artur ran a hand through his hair, groaning. "I was twelve. It was probably about clouds and awkward metaphors."

Ren gave Billy a playful nudge. "He was cute even back then—awkward, shy, couldn’t look people in the eye. Big contrast to now, huh?"

Billy looked at Artur and smiled softly. "He still can’t sometimes. But I don’t mind."

Artur glanced away, but his lips twitched upward despite himself.

Ren chuckled, then stood to stretch. "Alright, lovebirds. You gonna sit here all day flirting in front of my stall, or are you going to help me lure in customers with your tragic market quest?"

Billy stood, brushing crumbs off his pants. "Depends. Do I get a discount if I pose as your dramatic assistant?"

Artur followed him up, finishing his drink. "He’ll scare people off. Don’t let him help."

Ren waved them both off with a laugh. "Fine, fine. Go on, then. But don’t disappear again. The market’s not the same without your nonsense."

Billy grinned and gave Ren a light salute. "We’ll be back—with or without the cat."

Artur gave a small wave. "Thanks for the snacks."

As they walked away, side by side again, Billy glanced at Artur.

Billy nudged Artur’s knee beneath the table, still grinning.

But even as he laughed, a part of him glanced once more toward the winding lane they had searched so thoroughly.

What had he really been chasing out there?

He didn’t know. But Artur, warm beside him, still felt like the answer.

They passed a street performer playing an old violin, the notes rising above the hum of the market. A few children sat cross-legged around him, clapping along. Billy slowed down.

"Let’s stop here for a second."

Artur tilted his head. "You want to listen?"

Billy nodded, then leaned slightly against a wooden post, watching the man’s fingers glide across the strings. Artur stood beside him, hands in his pockets, his gaze distant.

"I used to think music like this sounded lonely," Artur murmured.

Billy turned to him, quiet for a second. "And now?"

Artur glanced at him, then smiled faintly. "Now it sounds like someone waiting for someone."

Billy reached for his hand without saying anything—just held it, warm and steady, there in the afternoon sun as the violin sang on.

A few moments passed before Artur said softly, "Let’s go home."

Billy nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Yeah... let’s go."

They walked on, side by side again, the market gradually fading behind them as they made their way down the quieter path leading back to the village—wind brushing against their arms, the distant sound of the violin still faint in the air.

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